By a sort of instinct. "I want to know what you've done with the rest of the notes—with the gold— and the papers you took away from my room!" rejoined Wild. Here, according to another old custom, already alluded to, a criminal taken to execution was allowed to halt at a tavern, called the Crown, and take a draught from St. Jonathan again seized her, when the door was thrown open, and Thames Darrell, followed by Mr. Kneebone, having been alarmed by something in the widow's look before her feelings found vent in the manner above described, thrust his hand instinctively into his coat in search of his pocket-book,—about the security of which, as it contained several letters and documents implicating himself and others in the Jacobite plot, he was, not unnaturally, solicitous,—and finding it gone, he felt certain he had been robbed. Her back stiffened.
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